I Still Remember
by fromthehillbythelake
Summary: How do two lovers find each other again when they don't know who they're looking for? ECLARE oneshot.


**Well, Eclare has been giving me feels lately. So here's a story to help us cope :)**

**I wrote a bit of a rant about Eclare on my tumblr, so there's that if you wanna read it: post/45002423102/rant-about-missing-goth-prince-more-i-dont **

**It may or may not add anything to this story, but it's where the inspiration for this story came from. Eli owes Clare a grovelling apology, and in here, I provide ;)**

**I hope you enjoy this, and keep the Eclare faith :)**

**I don't own a thing.**

* * *

**-x-**

"You have any weed?"

It's been a long day, and he halts at the side of his friend's red truck. Zombie movie production is finished for the day, and he just wants to get home. He hopes Bullfrog hasn't finished working on the Mustang; he wants to finish the job so he can accomplish at least _one_ thing today. Jake looks at him.

"Yeah."

Eli smirks, expectant.

There's a beat.

"So, Camarade, can I have some?"

Jake shrugs. And suddenly, Eli's pissed.

"What, Clare warn you not to give me any?" his words are harsh and spiteful and mocking. _Since when do you do what your _sister _tells you?_ he nearly sneers. Eli almost laughs, but the air is too tense, and the last time Jake looked at him like this (a mix of anger and disappointment and pity), the lumberjack was dating Clare.

"Grow up man."

And suddenly, Eli's furious.

"Fuck you. I'm allowed to smoke if I want, she doesn't get to tell me what to do-"

"First off," Jake bites out, "Clare didn't tell me anything. She doesn't talk about you at all-"

Eli's heart drops, but he doesn't think about what that could mean.

"Second," Jake continues, "buy your own fucking weed. Third, I don't really feel like giving out to the dick who got naked in front of my sister at school."

Eli scoffs bitterly. "You don't know anything. She kept forcing me to talk and talk-"

"Did you tell her you didn't want to talk about it?" Jake demands.

"Yes!" Eli growls. "Over and over and over! She kept trying to make me re-live it, every damn day, I couldn't take it anymore."

Jake shakes his head. "You're a fucking idiot."

Eli has to clench his fists, his fingers shaking. "You have no idea what it's like. You didn't walk in on Cam, you didn't have to see the blood, you don't have to see his lifeless body in your nightmares…your ex didn't die, you don't have Bipolar…so if I want to smoke a bit of fucking weed to help me relax, give me a fucking break! I'm not doing hard drugs anymore, I'm done with that. So get off my fucking back."

Jake's jaw is taut, as he rests his elbows on the side of his truck.

"I don't know what it's like, man. I don't." His voice is low. A beat passes between them again.

"So, can I get that joint now?" Eli smirks, after the air clears.

Jake grins. "Sure," he says, reaching into his pocket. His fingers catch just before he hands it to Eli.

"What you did to Clare was fucked up, man."

Eli takes the joint.

"She wouldn't listen to me-"

"Maybe," says Jake, "but you weren't really talking, were you?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I told her I didn't want to-"

Jake looks him over, and Eli notices the hesitancy in his friend's eyes.

"Clare would've backed off if you told her why you didn't want to talk, you know. She just needed to hear _why_."

Eli opens his mouth to argue, but his chest gets heavy of its own accord, and he stops.

"How do you know that?" he practically snarls at Jake. _How am I wrong_? He regrets what he did, told her so even, but she was treating him like her patient. He only wanted to be her boyfriend. That's all he ever wanted. She kept fabricating scenarios in her head for why he didn't want to talk, when he _actually_ just wanted to try and move on. He wanted to go on dates with her; take her to the park, a reading, a concert, anything. But she couldn't see.

"The walls are thin," Jake offers, and Eli guesses he's heard Clare talking to Alli or Adam or Katie on the phone in her room. Eli shuffles his feet.

"Is she…doing alright?" he asks carefully.

Jake glances him, and Eli swears he can see a bit of disgust lingering in the boy's eyes. Jake's aggression is unexpected, and Eli's suddenly nervous.

"Do you want to hear that she's crying everyday? Unable to live without you? A complete wreck? Desperate to get you back?"

The words shake Eli to his bones, and he has to refrain himself from hitting Jake – but the green-eyed boy can't tell if he's furious because Jake accused him of such a thing, or because the lumberjack might be right.

"Hit me if you want," Jake goes on, "but you asked her for a break. She's coping. You of all people know how strong she is, and I don't want you fucking it up."

"I asked her for space for my own sake!" Eli seethes. "She wasn't letting me be a good boyfriend to her! She was _suffocating_ me!"

And suddenly the excuses and justifications and arguments that wove his web of self-righteous bullshit, fray in his mind – he can almost hear the snap.

"Did you ever think that Clare might've needed a break from you too?" Jake utters.

And with those words comes the sinking realization of what he's done. Eli racks his brain – a last desperate attempt – for something, _anything_ that could offer him a redeemable route, a second chance, a shred of forgiveness.

He's disgusted to find that he can't find a thing.

He shamed her for choosing not to have sex with him because she wasn't sure he was in the right mental state (he was, _he was_, didn't he tell her? _Fuck_, he only insisted he was fine. And _shit_, how could he have said those things after what happened to her with Asher?), he blatantly discussed their sex life in front a majority of the female student body, he blamed her for his anger (she hadn't listened to him, but_ fuck_, he didn't even outrightly tell her what he'd needed), and…

Did he really tell her that she was the problem?

He had told her he was 'All in,' but he didn't even let her in.

His heart rate is too fast, and his breathing is shallow. _What the fuck is wrong with me_? God, he ruined everything.

"Jake," he manages, "Jake, what do I do?"

Jake clasps a hand to his shoulder to hold him steady. "Are you okay, man? You need your pills?"

"No-" Eli tries, his vision blurring slightly.

"Where's Adam? Does he have your stuff?" Jake asks firmly, but Eli only shakes his head.

"Jake. I have to talk to Clare. To apologize."

But Jake grips his shoulder tighter. "No, man. I'll get you home if you need, but you're not talking to her. She doesn't want to talk to you. She doesn't need to talk to you. And I'll be damned if I take you to her."

"But I need-" Eli protests weakly.

"No. Eli, you're my friend, but you don't deserve her, not right now. You need to sort yourself out. And that takes time. You treated her like shit, and a measly apology isn't gonna cut it. I won't let you hurt her again."

Eli shoves Jake off roughly. "Well then, fuck off! I don't need your help. And you can't stop me from seeing her. She can do whatever she wants!"

Jake looks at him, a trace of remorse twisting his features. "The only reason I'm not going to punch you in the fucking face right now is because of Clare."

Eli laughs bitterly, his heartbeat slowing.

Jake pinches his brow before continuing. He lets out a long, winded breath. "And for some reason, she's still in love with your stupid ass."

"She's-"

"Too good for you," Jake finishes. "But you're right, she can do what she wants."

Eli gazes at his friend, familiar common ground bonding them once again: Clare. There's an understanding there, like there always has been, running blood-deep: she deserves to be happy. Eli lets the faintest of smiles pull at his lips.

"Don't look so happy, you prick," Jake smirks, "it'll freak everyone out to have the town Emo smiling."

Eli cocks an eyebrow.

"Lemme drive your ass home," Jake smiles, and Eli shakes his head.

"I'll walk," he says softly. Jake nods.

"And don't even think about talking to Clare until you've figured yourself out first," Jake finishes, climbing into his truck and slamming the door. He ignites the engine satisfyingly. "Or I really will kick your ass."

* * *

**-x-**

"Oh look, the little Goth Prince is wearing his rings again," Katie mocks, pulling up behind him in the lunch line.

"Good afternoon to you too, Ice Queen," Eli bites sardonically, his expression bored.

Katie scrunches her nose at him jeeringly. "You know you're not fooling anyone with your whole get-up, right?" She taunts, and lifting a thumb to his eyes says "And is that your old eyeliner making an appearance?!"

"Fuck off," he snaps, hitting her arm away.

"Testy, testy," she says smugly. "And by the way, the quality of your rejoinders has severely declined."

He grips the lunch tray with unwarranted strength. "What do you want?"

Katie relents slightly. "Dressing up like you used to in grade 11 won't get her back you know," she says softly. His jaw clenches.

"Warranted advice, coming from a fucking charlatan. Remind me, who changed her whole look after she lost her virginity?"

He knows he's gone too far, but Katie merely smiles.

"There we are," she coos, "there's the snarky little bitch we've been missing."

And he has to smile. She reaches for a cookie, directly avoiding his gaze.

"Have you apologized yet?" she quips, fumbling with her money.

"It's not that simple," he grunts.

"You did royally fuck up," she agrees. He closes his eyes in annoyance, "I just don't know what to do."

"Well, Clare can't read your mind," Katie answers. "But when you're lucky enough to find someone who falls in love with all your broken, fragile things, you never let them go." And she grabs her lunch tray, her gaze lingering on a tall, plaid-wearing boy.

And Eli smiles.

"Hey Dr. Doom!" he hears Bianca call when she passes him in the line. "I want my pants back." And with a wink, she makes her way to a table to sit with Drew, Imogen, Fiona, and Owen.

He scowls, looking down at the black and white pattern. _Well, fuck it._

* * *

**-x-**

"We're done," he says in awe, reclining in the leather chair.

"How does it feel?" Adam beams, collecting the camera equipment.

"Weird," Eli admits. "My last project at Degrassi…over."

Adam grins. "Fucking amazing exit, eh?"

Eli nods his head. "I don't even know how to thank everyone. We should celebrate! C'mon, beers on me. I made you stay late and everything."

Adam, who was packing everything away hurriedly, stops sheepishly. "Sorry man, I agreed to uhh…help Clare with posters later tonight. Rain-check?"

Eli blinks. "Oh. Sure thing."

Adam smiles, albeit awkwardly. In the silence, Eli reaches for the last camera.

He reads _Toronto Inquirer_ before Adam can rip it from his hands.

"How the-"

"Don't tell Clare," Adam winces, under Eli's pointed gaze. "She was able to get some equipment from her new placement and wanted me to pass it along. Please don't tell her that I told you."

Eli swallows over the hollow in his chest. "Scout's honour," he swears, smirking. Adam gives him a cheeky smile in return.

"Do you guys want some help?" Eli asks. "With the posters?"

Adam shakes his head vigorously. "Aw, no worries, it's alright. We've got it." His friend continues to shift around uncomfortably, so Eli lets him off the hook.

"Don't worry about it bro," Eli smirks. "Lemme at least drop you off."

…

And as his hand rests on the top of the hood, Adam already shuffling through Clare's front door, Eli decides not to give over the bag filled with the posters he stayed up all night working on. He catches the phrase 'Vote for Clare' as he slams the hood shut.

Knowing her, she's got a power-point presentation prepared, cue cards cut out, and is just re-doing some of the mediocre posters this evening. Plus, she wouldn't take the posters anyway, even if Adam insisted he was the one who made them. She should be the one to do the work, she'd argue. After all, it is her campaign!

What was he thinking anyway? A couple posters weren't enough to earn her forgiveness.

…

He makes a good dozen Smores over the fire when he gets home, the poster board burning brightly.

* * *

**-x-**

She's sitting behind the podium, fingers clutching her cue cards. Drew's proclaiming more dances, more food, more _fun_, and she just wants this to be over.

She knows she's going to lose the election…always knew it really. She's much better at being behind the scenes anyway; a reporter in all aspects of life.

She knows Alli and Jenna and Katie and Adam and Connor and Jake are waiting out there, everybody listening, but she doesn't have the heart to look out to them. She just wants to lose with pride, and their smiles won't help her, especially if they're beaming and hopeful (they will be).

Drew won't make a _terrible_ President, she knows. She thinks he deserves it really. And if she's being completely honest, she's probably too anal for such a responsibility. Better her keep to what she knows, what she excels in: organization and planning. She can always pipe up in Council meetings.

The audience booms with cheers and applause at Drew's closing joke, and Clare goes to stand. She's shaky and nervous, but _here we go_.

God, if only she could stop shaking.

"Scream. At the top of your lungs."

His voice is strong and sure, stirring the deepest parts of her soul, and before she can snap her head back, Eli's already made his way into the crowd, his hand gracing her hip beforehand.

The applause dies down, and Simpson reaches an arm out towards her.

"And our next candidate, Clare Edwards!" the principle shouts, and time seems to accelerate in those seconds she takes to walk up to the podium. She wants to bolt right out of there, wants to take back her ballot and _Why did she even run in the first place_? It's quiet now, the student body waiting for her to speak. She shuffles the cards in her hands, and begins.

"I'm Clare Edwards, and I'm running for Student Council President…"

She can see the excitement drain from the students' faces: the coughs, yawns, picking of nails. Their obvious disinterest smothers her like a blanket.

But a figure in black catches her eye, donning a leather jacket and Converse. He pulls on the collar of his jacket and when her eyes connect with his, she catches him wink.

_"Ms. Dawes made us partners because she wanted you to take risks!"_

She smiles, and they share a look so intimate she can't help but blush. Warmth fills her from her crown to her toes, and she basks in it. She understands what the boy is trying to tell her: she's Clare Diana Edwards, and what she says is important. Even if no one is listening.

_Scream. At the top of your lungs._

She's relieved, confident even, and the fact that her friends are in the crowd for support gives her the strength she needs.

She rips up her cue cards, and starts anew.

* * *

**-x-**

"Congratulations," he says, low.

"I didn't win," she answers softly, smoothing down her skirt under his unwavering gaze.

"I think you did, really," Eli muses, offering her his trademark smirk.

She smiles, but the scene is too painful: a green-eyed boy, too flirty for his own good. "I guess I'll see you later then…" and she's off.

"Wait," he says.

She turns back to see him holding out a single white rose. "Congratulations."

She wants to take it, desperately, but remembers what they're doing here…why they're here. They aren't even friends anymore, caught in the limbo of past lovers and future nothings. She follows her heart though, and pulls it gently from his hands.

"Thank you."

He smiles.

"We're not a fairytale, Eli," she says after a moment, as if it'll explain anything. As if he'll understand that she's long outgrown her Disney phase, and sometimes pretty gestures and elaborate speeches can't make everything right. She hasn't forgiven him yet, and he's only making it harder…aren't they on a break? And maybe, she thinks, she's more in love with the memory of him than the person who's actually standing in front of her.

He seems to understand, though Clare isn't sure how. "But I want a happy ending."

She looks down at the rose wrapped up in her fingers. "Maybe someday," she says, clasping it to her chest as she leaves.

* * *

**-x-**

He opens his door early Saturday morning to check for mail; he'd been up late anyways. The sunlight burns his eyes and he grumbles, all morning voice and bedhead. It's the usual bills and ads, until he notices a wrapped gift on his doorstep.

He picks it up, brimming with suspicion. The card reads: _To Eli Goldsworthy_. He opens it to find some new comic books that he'd wanted, along with candy, Palahniuk's new book, and a Dead Hand CD.

_"Congrats on getting into NYU!"_

That's all the card says.

He looks outside again, as if it'll bring him any answers.

…

"C'mon man," Eli finally grins at lunch a week later. "Why haven't you taken credit for that wicked NYU package you sent me yet?"

Adam looks at him confusedly. "I didn't send you any package, man."

Eli already asked his parents. They swore they had nothing to do with it, which Eli still isn't sure he believes. Imogen, and Fiona denied any involvement as well. He asked Jake earlier too, but the boy simply shrugged.

"Oh," Eli says, ignoring Adam's look. "Right."

* * *

**-x-**

"What are you doing here?" she gasps when she opens the door. She's in her pjs, hair done up, make-up askew.

It's Prom Night and she starts to panic. He'd only be here in an emergency. She has the house to herself – Jake celebrating with Katie, Alli with Dallas, Jenna and Connor and Dave and Adam still partying at the Torres' cause their Graduation wasn't until next year (they had invited her out and she had partied for a little while, but decided to leave early to hang out at home), and her parents at the cottage – so she was just snuggled up on the couch watching some movies.

"What's wrong? Is everything okay-"

Eli Goldsworthy's jaw is set in a stubborn line. His raven-hair is ruffled, his red tie loose. The rest of him is black: his suit, his dress shirt, even his shoes. She swears his eyes are black too, the moonlight casting shadows over his face. He looks ready to pounce, either on her or out of there completely.

He pulls out a crinkled scrap of paper from his back pocket, and Clare sees it's blotted with ink.

"Want to go to Prom with me?" he asks roughly, his whole body shaking.

Clare answers before she can think. "It's over," she says, "it's 1 in the morning…"

"I know," he says, but still he stands in her doorway. She has the urge to fiddle with her hair, but thinks better of it.

He keeps looking past her like he's begging for entrance, so she holds the door tighter.

"Why are you here?" she asks again, quiet as the night.

"Can I come in?" he whispers.

Her brain is screaming at her to shut the door, to yell at him never to come back.

She offers him the tiniest of nods before pulling back on the handle.

…

He's pacing and shuffling and nervous, wringing his hands as Clare takes a seat on the couch.

"Eli-" she starts, but before she can get another word out he sits on the living room table, facing her.

The scene is too familiar, carries too much weight, and she almost starts to cry.

_"I guess you're stuck with me. Just like you said I was stuck with you." _

"Eli-" she pleads, and he's still holding the scrap of paper in his lap. She can see that scribbles and scratches take up most of the page, the whole thing stained with tears.

He takes a nervous breath.

"I stayed up all night writing this," he mutters, "a couple of nights actually. I couldn't get it right."

She isn't looking at him, can't look at him; but he knows she's listening.

"I'm sorry. I know you think that I'm only apologizing for the last few weeks, but I'd like to start earlier; from the beginning in fact. I'm sorry that I came to you so broken; I was in pieces and asked you to put me back together when you were just a girl. I'm sorry for Fitz, the fake IDs…for Vegas Night and crashing my hearse. For making you a villain in _Love Roulette_, and playing the victim when you asked me to get help. I've sung this song before, _I know_, and I know you've forgiven me…but there are days I remember and nearly want to die. I'm sorry for reading your diary; for attacking your personal thoughts that weren't mine to see. I'm sorry for blaming you, time and time again for my own anger, my own mistakes, my own self-hatred and self-loathing…" he's having trouble speaking as his voice breaks. Clare hasn't said a word.

"I'm sorry that you fell in love with me. I'm not sure I'll ever be good enough for you, but I want you to know that I'm constantly trying to be. I'm trying for you, but I'm tying for me too. I know I asked for space, and we've had that now. And we've done okay…I've seen it. Even if we part ways tonight, if you decide that you don't want to do this anymore, I can't let you go without telling you how sorry I am for my actions. And it isn't even about how my hoarding and Bipolar affects me…I'm not perfect, but you didn't deserve what I put you through. It's about you. I'm apologizing because you deserve an apology. I hurt you, and I'm so sorry."

The silence crushes him.

"You act like I didn't have a choice," Clare finally says, her voice shaky, her cheeks wet. "Like I didn't have a choice whether or not to fall in love with you."

Eli crumples the paper tighter.

"You expected me to take your word for it, every time, that you were 'fine'. That nothing was wrong. Why couldn't you just tell me _why_? You could never do that. You expected my full acceptance without full disclosure, and I couldn't give that to you. How could you expect me to? Every other time, you were at the brink of self-destruction. I only needed to talk Eli, and not about Cam. I wanted to talk about why you took drugs, and did all of those dangerous things. If you hadn't shut me out, and had told me directly why you needed to react the way that you did, I would have understood. I know I hover, and sometimes I push. I know I shouldn't have invaded your room and locker last year, and shouldn't have gone behind your back for the yearbook video. But I cared about you. I care about you. I'm sorry too, Eli. I just-"

Eli looks at her desperately. This can't be it.

"We just keep hurting each other. Maybe we're too different…"

Eli takes her hands, and the intensity of his gaze nearly breaks her.

"I'm here to own up to my mistakes, Clare. I'm sorry for airing out our dirty laundry in front of the school. I hate myself for doing that. I should have never punished you for 'not listening' when I didn't even give you anything to work with. You are not the problem. You've never been the problem-"

"Eli-"

"We've hurt each other. And I know we'll still hurt each other-"

"Eli-"

"And I'm not trying to make excuses, but-"

"_Eli_!" Clare cries, placing a hand to his cheek. He breathes sharply. "I forgive you."

"Wha-"

"I forgive you," she whispers, and places the chaste-ist of kisses on his lips. It's better than any '_I miss you'_ or '_I love you' _he's ever heard.

And she's looking at him in that way she did before their first kiss; all butterflies and anticipation, blushing like a new bride.

And when he picks her up, pushes her against the wall to kiss raw the pink lips he's missed so much, she's elated that Eli's never loved lightly.

Yes, they're different. And always will be. But the boy kissing her with passion and desire and longing is the same boy she fell in love with. Giving her the 'quiet, unrelenting, righting of his wrongs, reminder of his all-consuming love' apology instead of the 'grand and gusto, guns blazing, circus show' apology she'd been expecting. She could've never forgiven him then. But he's still hers, and she's in love with him.

He's touching her everywhere, and she's burning. Him in his tux, her in her pyjamas; it's enough.

He calls her beautiful.

They don't let go of each other all night. They make their way upstairs, kissing and gripping and moaning and aching. They lie on the bed, and though some clothes shimmy off, they decide to save that for another time.

"Your eyes," he whispers after they're finished, stroking his fingers over her forehead. She looks at him, and sees he's nearly in tears. "Such pretty, pretty eyes."

_I love you_, her kisses say_, I love you_. His lips promise too: _I love you_.

When she wakes up his corsage is attached to her wrist, the petals pure white.

...

* * *

**I hope this was okay!**

**Review loves? :) I'd love to hear what you thought**


End file.
